What’s the deal with the $300 Okapa water bottle?

“What does that mean? “Do?” my friend asked as we sat there staring at the chrome pink, futuristic looking cylinder that sat on the table. “It’s just a water bottle,” I said.

“It doesn’t filter your water? Do you keep track of how much you drink?” she asked. I shrugged. “No, I think it still looks cool.” My friend asked because Okapa, a single product brand, sells one Flagship water bottle for $295.

For context, most high-end Water bottles The top price is around $50, or maybe $100-150 if they have fancy features like self-cleaning UV lights, built-in filters, or app connectivity to monitor your drinking habits. When a brand charges so much more than market value, it’s usually for one of two reasons: either it’s a luxury product intended as a status symbol, or it solves a consumer problem that no one has yet solved.

Okapa claims to do both. Its Instagram bio says “luxury hydration” and the company is tapping into the fashion world to find its clientele by collaborating with a small designer for a New York Fashion Week runway show. But Okapa also claims its bottle redefines hygiene and durability by using materials typically found in medical and aerospace applications.

According to Okapa, it took eight years of research and development and more than 10,000 prototypes to achieve the “micron-level precision” of his bottle, and more than 70 patents were filed worldwide in the process. By the way, if you’re wondering what Okapa means or where it comes from, according to the company, it’s apparently a way of thinking. “We call it ‘The State of Okapa,’ where the unthinkable is realized,” says the bumf website. The website then adds that the bottle itself is “an engineering feat beyond all reason.”

Okapa’s founder Hardy Steinmann is no stranger to the luxury market or over-the-top product promises has cut his teeth In the 80s and 90s he managed marketing and sales for a high-end watch brand Hublot in the USA, then relaunch of the Swatch Group Hamilton Watch brand worldwide.

Anyway, do these medical and aerospace materials actually make a difference in a water bottle? Can a water bottle really redefine hygiene? I tested it for almost two months and spoke to a medical toxicology expert to find out.

First thoughts

Before I even got my hands on the water bottle, I saw the website. It has a retro video game aesthetic with pixelated text and smooth transitions. Even the instruction manual is illustrated in the same playful style. And I’m a fan of companies that put so much emphasis on brand design and overall atmosphere.

When I unpacked the water bottle, I was even more convinced. This thing is beautiful. The lines are clean, the dot pattern is eye-catching, and the finish has a soft, matte sheen that looks and feels expensive. I chose the pink and yellow color variant (“Peaches Copperwire”), but there are eight in total, ranging from all black to bright red. Each has a name that sounds more like a low-budget sci-fi movie character than a color, like “Redd Rumble” or “Mitsi Pinku.”

Would my stylish water bottle with such a distinctive design cause envy among peers or strangers? Could they even tell it cost that much? I carry it with me at airports, spas, work events in New York City, and on trains in Europe. I held it in my hand, swinging it between my fingers, searching for compliments. I didn’t get any.

The testing experience

Water bottles are a pretty simple product, so the engineering and details of the Okapa bottle surprised me. Firstly, it’s really satisfying to drink from. The lid opens with the push of a button and makes a clear little “thump” as the spring-loaded lid snaps back. It’s easy to open with one hand, and when you tilt the bottle to extract the last drop, the cap stays neatly out of the way rather than folding forward and hitting you in the forehead.

The shape of the mouthpiece fits perfectly when you purse your lips, and the Swiss-made Grilamid plastic feels softer and higher quality than most. It also has a locking mechanism that works exceptionally well. Even if I forget to turn on lock mode, the lid in my bag has never popped open. (I once ruined a laptop when an Owala opened in the middle of the commute, so I appreciate a trusty shutter.)